


The Narrator

by SassySausage



Category: Original Work
Genre: Minor Character Death, Minor Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 18:27:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19874083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SassySausage/pseuds/SassySausage
Summary: Nicola Matthews is a detective in New York City. One day she is assigned a case in Dalry, a small town just outside of the city, but it is no ordinary case. She has suddenly found herself chasing an infamous serial killer who goes by the name The Narrator. Will she be able to catch him? Or will he get away with murder once again?





	The Narrator

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is a story that I had to write for my creative writing class and I figured that I might as well post it here. It definitely could have been novel length but I wasn't about to write a novel for a class so it feels really condensed. 
> 
> Let me know what you think in the comments!

The bells chimed as I opened the door of the small shop on Main Street. The space to my right held colorful wind chimes that clinked together as the breeze shuffled in. To my left was a stack of bright pillows and a rocking chair that swayed back and forth. Further back, I could see little sculptures of fairies and birds and butterflies.

None of this was surprising. No, what stunned me was the immediate stench of death that filled my nose. Bright red blood splatters on the store’s sweet contents jarred the innocent picture.

I ducked under the yellow crime scene tape across the door, raising my sunglasses from my eyes. The medical examiner shuffled in after me, trailing a bag of tools behind him. I stood straighter and tugged on the jacket of my pantsuit, observing the crime scene.

A bloody hand poking out from behind the register caught my eye. I walked over and knelt next to the body of a young man who looked to be around 20 years old. His torn, bloody shirt displayed the emblem of a trendy band. His head lay in a pool of blood, and it looked like there had been a struggle – one that he ultimately lost. One of those cute stone sculptures lay next to him, covered in his blood. Slipping on a pair of gloves, I reached into his pocket and removed his ID. His name was Justin Trance.

Standing again, I moved over to the rocking chair, inspecting the body residing in it: an old woman, roughly 80 years old. She had put up less of a fight. Her throat had been slit with a knife. Blood soaked into her once pretty dress, but by far the most unsettling thing was her blue eyes, wide open in fear and staring at seemingly nothing. She had no ID on her, but I already knew who she was. Her name was Melaney Brooks. She owned the store.

Making my way to the back, I saw the real reason we were here. A little girl stood poised, one hand at her side, the other reaching out towards a book on the shelf. Her green eyes were wide open, staring in wonder at the book,  _ The Champion _ . Her brown hair was carefully tied back with a ribbon to match her eyes. I didn’t need to look for any ID. I knew who she was. Her name was Maddison Balcchinni. And she was dead.

***

_ One Week Earlier _

I checked my watch. 11:28 P.M. Sighing, I blinked the sleep from my eyes and scanned my desk for my phone. My eyes snagged on one of the pencils on the edge of my desk. I reached out and straightened it to line up with the others. Looking up, I noticed that I was the only one still here. Even my boss had gone home. I glanced back to my computer. There was no way I was going to finish this report tonight. It would have to wait for tomorrow.

I shut down my desktop and stood, stretching my limbs and grabbing my suit jacket from the back of the chair. Scanning the desk one last time, my eyes caught on the title card.  _ Detective Nicola Matthews _ . I had worked hard to earn that title, but it wasn’t all I expected it to be. I spent less time catching criminals and more time sitting at my desk writing reports. I swiped my phone off the desk with a sigh and walked to the door.

My heels clicked against the linoleum as I started down the long hallway to the stairs. The fluorescent lights above me barely lit up the hallway, and I could have sworn that I saw something shift in the shadows along the walls. Moving a little faster, I made it to the stairs. Just as I reached the top, I heard a steady clicking behind me, almost like footsteps. Turning slowly, I saw a figure resting in the shadow of a doorway, beginning to move towards me. I reached for my gun before remembering that I had left it in the car. I stepped backwards, tripping over the stairs. For each step back, he took one forward. He picked up the pace, closing the gap between us. Spinning on my heel, I sprinted in the opposite direction, but not before seeing a devilish grin spread across his face. I made it out the door, but when I turned to look behind me, he was gone. Still, I ran to my car and jumped inside quickly, dumping my bag on the seat next to me. Locking the doors and starting the car, I took a moment to breathe before reaching for my phone to call 911. But I found something else before I found my phone.

There was a letter on the seat, folded neatly into thirds. I picked it up with trembling hands and unfolded it. My eyes scanned the page and began to read:

My dear detective,

It is with great pleasure that I welcome you to my story. You are one of the few lucky characters that I have selected. But you aren’t just any character, oh no; you are my protagonist. My knight in shining armor. 

You will find that I am not a very renowned author, for I tell a story but once every 10 years. Each time a new setting, new characters, a new plot. This year, the story will be particularly thrilling, for it will be my last. I am getting old, and my penmanship is just not what it used to be. A bit too messy, I’m afraid. 

I will be publishing the first chapter of my story within the next 24 hours, and so your quest shall begin. But fair warning, detective, my stories tend not to end happily. My protagonists just insist on stepping outside of their bounds. It is not your job to pick up the pen. It is your job to follow my story to a T. 

So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride, Ms. Matthews. It will be to die for.

Sincerely,

The Narrator

I stared at the words in confusion. It had to be some kind of joke; it didn’t make any sense. What did he mean by a “story”? And what did I have to do with it?

_ I’m way too tired to deal with this right now _ , I thought.  _ The whole thing is probably just my friends playing a trick on me. That was probably Eric chasing me back there.  _ So I shoved the letter into my bag, brushing away the worry in my mind.  _ I’ll handle it tomorrow. _ Gripping the wheel so hard my knuckles turned white, I backed out of the parking lot and headed home to get some much needed sleep. 

***

The next day, I had just sat down at my desk when my boss came up to me. “Detective Matthews, come with me,” he said. He spun on his heel without another word, so I scurried after him and into his office. He closed the door and sat down at his desk, smoothing the edges of his jacket. Folding his hands together on top of the desk, he continued, “Detective, have you ever heard of someone called the Narrator?”

My hands stopped their nervous fidgeting. I stared at him in confusion. “What? Um… not exactly, sir. But I did receive this letter last night.” I pulled it out of my bag and handed it to him. He skimmed it and then tossed it on his desk, rubbing his hands over his face. 

“I was afraid of this,” he muttered.

“Afraid of what?” I asked.

He stared at the desk pensively for a moment before looking back up at me. “There was a murder last night. Well, several murders, actually. We believe that they were the work of the man who wrote you this letter.”

I looked at him in shock. “Why would you think that?”

“Because he has killed before.” He reached down and opened a drawer, pulling out a thick file and tossing it onto the desk. “He has a very specific MO. He likes to tell stories through murder and acts of violence. We believe that his first kill was in 1979, but it’s possible that he practiced before then. Every ten years, he comes out of hiding to commit a series of murders in short succession that link together to form some sort of story. Every time he returns, it is to a different city or town. And every time, he chooses a different detective to be the protagonist of his story. To try and solve the murders. Apparently, he has chosen you this time, Ms. Matthews.”

I stared in confusion at my hands, the desk, the walls - basically anywhere but his face - my eyes eventually landed on the file. I composed myself enough to ask, “How did you know he had written to me?”

“He left a clue at the crime scene. I would explain it, but it’s best if you just see for yourself. For now, I’ll just give you the basics of the case. The victims are Emma and Daniel Balcchinni, happily married with an eight-year old daughter, Maddison. They were murdered in their sleep.” He handed me the file and stood. I followed suit. “Visit the crime scene as soon as possible, but read the file first. You’ll want to know what you’re walking into.”

He walked to the door and held it opened for me. I took a moment to compose myself before I took a deep breath and stepped out the door, walking to my desk and sitting down. As my brain scrambled to comprehend what I had just been told, I opened the file and began to read.

Awhile later, I slammed it closed and tossed it onto the desk, rubbing my hands over my face. I had been at it for three hours and was only half way through. My eyes couldn’t take one more page of violence and gore.

I decided that I knew enough about the case to go check out the crime scene. Standing from my chair, I grabbed the file and my things before heading out the door. 

***

The house was on Oakwald Street, but its driveway extended far into the woods, isolating it from the buildings around it. It was set into a hill in the middle of a clearing. It’s walls were built of long oak logs, giving it a homey feel. A line of flowers wrapped all the way around the house, breaking only for the garage and the stone path leading up to the front door. Irises, freecia, daffodils, hydrangeas, weaving together in a colorful march to the house. Combined with the bright green of the spring grass and the blue, cloudless sky, it made for a beautiful picture. 

To mask the horrific scene inside. 

I took a deep breathe to calm the butterflies in my stomach and began to walk up the long driveway. Despite the fact that the victims were found hours ago, the scene was still abuzz with police, paramedics, medical examiners, and witnesses. I stepped through the front door, flashing my badge at the police officer guarding it. 

The first thing I noticed was how normal it looked; not at all like the scene of a violent crime. The wooden panels along the wall shined, as if freshly cleaned. The pillows on the couches were fluffed up. The blankets neatly folded. The table set for dinner. There was no sign of any disturbance. No blood on the walls, no furniture tipped over, not even a spoon out of place. It was clean. Meticulously so. 

The second thing I noticed was the smell. A sickening odor hit my nose. I wanted to gag. It smelled like old meat or rotten eggs that had been left out for days. It smelled like garbage that had been left open in hundred degree heat. It smelled like death.

Breathing through my mouth, I walked through the kitchen and living room and found the stairs. As I began to climb them, I looked around for anything out of the ordinary, but there was nothing. The wall was lined with perfectly arranged pictures of the family. I paused to look at one. Mr. and Mrs. Balcchinni were standing in front of their house. A little girl stood between them.  _ Must be their daughter, _ I thought. She had brown hair and green eyes and a huge smile on her face. They looked happy.  _ Not anymore. _

I shook myself out of my stupor and resumed walking. As I reached the top of the stairs and stepped into a long hallway, the smell intensified. Reluctantly, I continued on, passing a pristine bathroom and two bedrooms, before arriving at the master bedroom. I stepped through the door, and promptly stopped in my tracks.

As with the rest of the house, most everything about the room was pristine. The bed was made and the floor was clean and everything looked normal.

Everything except the dead bodies, that is.

In front of the fireplace, Mr. and Mrs. Balcchinni sat in rocking chairs. Their skin was a ghastly white, but their faces were frozen in smiles. Their eyes were open, and starring at a piece of paper that sat on the small table between them. Careful not to disturb the crime scene, I stepped around them and peered over their shoulders to read it.

Once upon a time, in the small village of Dalry, there lived a little girl. She lived with her parents on the edge of the village, and she loved her life. But one night, the girl’s parents were killed, and she went missing. The town searched far and wide, but to no avail. So, the desperate townspeople called for the aid of a foreign knight, one of renowned intelligence and bravery. She discovered that the girl had been taken by an evil sorcerer, hell bent on destroying the village. Will the knight be able to find her in time? Or will the town crumble under the weight of its guilt and sorrow?

You will have to read the next chapter to find out, but in order to get there, you must help the knight find the clues hidden at the scene of the crime. 

Good luck!

  * The Narrator



P.S. Should anyone but Detective Nicola Matthews attempt to assume the role of the knight in this story, the consequences would be, well, quite gruesome.

My heart was practically beating out of my chest. I was no stranger to crime. It had surrounded me all my life. In newspaper clippings. In my job. But something about this was different. Something was wrong. Most murders are shrouded in chaos and hate. There is a clear motive and a clear ending: the killer behind bars. But I could never guess the motives of this man. He killed an innocent couple and kidnapped their child, and for what? To tell a story? For the sheer thrill of it?

I closed my eyes and took a deep breathe, attempting to calm my fluttering nerves. I had no idea why this monster had chosen me to be a part of his story, but, for now, I would play along. I would attempt to solve this heinous crime. I would do my job.

Opening my eyes once more, I did what I would at any other crime scene: look for evidence. But, once again, the space was suspiciously clean. A thought occurred to me:  _ Did he clean the house before he left? _ That would explain why there was almost no physical evidence at the scene. But why? Was it to cover his tracks? To create the perfect setting? Both?

As I pondered this, two men and a woman walked into the room. The first looked to be in his late 50s, with salt and pepper hair, wearing scrubs and a lab coat. He was tall, handsome, and surprisingly built for his age. He smiled and shook my hand, introducing himself as Dr. Robert Evans, the medical examiner. He stuck one hand into the pocket of his lab coat and gestured to the second man with his other hand. “This is my assistant, Jackson Blake.” The young man - maybe in his late 20s - gave a shy wave, shifting his eyes back and forth, looking at basically anything but me. Clearly I made him nervous for some reason.  _ Probably because a serial killer just wrote you a letter, Nic, _ I thought. 

My eyes shifted to the woman. She was young, probably about 30, with curly, bright red hair tugged into a long ponytail on top of her head. She seemed more at ease, smiling at me and shaking my hand vigorously. “Hi! I’m Bella Murphy. I’m the crime scene technician. You must be the detective.”

“Nicola Matthews,” I said, smiling. She was cute.

“They sent me to get you up to speed on everything we know so far.” She released my hand from her death grip, pushing her big round glasses up her nose and hugging a notebook close to her chest.

“I’m all ears.”

“Well, as you can see, the entire house is unnaturally clean, so there wasn’t much in the way of evidence. But, we did find a few things.” 

As she began flipping through her notebook, Dr Evans said, “I’ll know more once I’ve done the autopsies, but I can tell you that the cause of death appears to be strangulation.”

Bella interrupted, “Yes, from what I can see, it appears that they were strangled in their bed and then moved to the chairs-”

“Wait, what? You think he moved them?” I asked. 

Bella looked at me as if I had just asked if fish can swim. “Well, yes. Despite attempting to cover his tracks by making the bed and cleaning, there are scuff marks and footprints on the floor on both sides of the bed and leading up to the door that do not match the shoe sizes of either victim. There are also scratch marks on the door, and the doc here found wood chips under Mrs.Balcchinni’s fingernails.”

I took a minute to mull that over. “So, the killer strangles him first, in the bed, to eliminate the biggest threat. She is woken by the commotion and runs to the door, but he reaches her before she can leave and drags her away. She grasps for the door, scratching it, but he is too strong. He strangles her, positions them in the chair, cleans the house… and then takes the girl? That doesn’t make sense; she would have woken up. He must have sedated her before killing the parents.”

“We did find traces of chloroform on the daughter’s bed,” Bella adds.

_ Huh. _ “Do you have anything else for me?”

Bella stepped forward. “Well, we did find something kind of odd.” She pointed to the woman’s body and we all shifted to face it. “We found her holding a card from a Melaney Brooks, written about a month ago.”

“Strange,” I said as I turned. “Is that it?” When they all nodded their heads, I handed both Emma and Dr. Evans a business card. He accepted it with a nod, and she grinned wide and bobbed her head quickly. “Please let me know if you find anything else.” 

With that, made my way out the door, leaving them behind. My small smile dropped as soon as I was out of sight.  _ This is going to be harder than I thought. _

***

_ 3 Days Later _

Once again, I slammed the file onto my desk with a frustrated groan. I was getting nowhere on this case. All I had to go on was some vague evidence and some pictures of the crime scene. None of their neighbors had heard anything because they lived so far out of the way. I had talked to basically everyone in this town about the family, and they all said the same thing: that they were perfectly normal and happy. It was a small town, so everybody knew everybody, and not a single person could think of anything out of the ordinary that had happened in the past week in relation to the Balcchinnis.

I was about to get up to take a quick lunch break when Dr. Evans walked into the room, heading straight for me. 

He tossed yet another file onto my desk and shoved his hands into the pocket of his lab coat. “I finished the autopsy. It was as we’d thought. They were strangled in their sleep at approximately midnight the night of the murders. I did find skin under the nails of both victims but not enough to be able to determine the killer’s identity.” 

I sighed. This was not helpful. “So the killer should have scars on his arms from the victims?”

“Yes. I know that most of this is not news to you, but I did find something that could be useful.” He pulled an evidence bag from his pocket. It was a picture of a lily. “I found it folded up under the male victim’s tongue.”

I sighed. “Thanks, doc.” As soon as he had turned around I dropped my head into my hands and groaned.  _ Well, at least now I have something to work with. _

***

_ One Day Later _

I parked my car on the side of the road in front of the building. It was small and made of wood logs stacked on top of each other. There was a stone pathway leading up to the door. The building and the walkway were outlined with flowers varying in color. Looking up, I noticed the sign that hung above the door, where “Lily of the Valley” was written in a sweet, curly font.

After doing some digging, I had discovered that Melaney Brooks owned this store. I had stopped by the day before, but the lights were out and the sign on the door said that they were closed for the day. Even though I couldn’t go inside, I still did some snooping around the property. When I saw the shed in the back, I almost expected to find Maddison Balcchinni inside, but there was nothing. Everything about this place was perfectly normal.

Now, stepping through the front door, everything still looked fine. Everything on the shelves was orderly, soft music played overhead, and a sweet aroma drifted towards me from the back of the store.

“Hello?” I shouted. Right on cue, an old woman poked her head out from behind a door in the back of the store. 

“Oh, hello dear! I’m sorry. I didn’t hear you come in. I was baking muffins. Would you like some?”

“Um, no thank you,” I said with a small smile. “Are you Melaney Brooks?”

“Why yes I am. What can I help you with?”

“I’m Detective Matthews. I’m investigating the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Balcchinni. Did you know them well?”

Her face turned a bit pale. “Oh yes, I did. I was a friend of Emma’s mother, and when she passed away a few years ago, I became a kind of surrogate grandmother to Maddison. Terrible, what happened to them.”

I nodded. “Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary recently? Any strange people coming by the store? Even if you think it’s insignificant, it could help with the case.”

“Not really. Everything has been perfectly normal.”

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a business card. “If you see or hear anything strange, give me a call.” I was about to turn and leave when my eyes noticed the clock behind her. At first, I couldn’t put my finger on what was wrong with it. But then I noticed that the hands were no longer moving. It was frozen on 1:30. Without removing my eyes from the clock, I said, “How long has that clock been frozen?”

She glanced behind her and gave a little shrug. “A couple of days, I guess. It’s weird though. When I noticed it, it wasn’t even noon yet.”

My eyes widened. “Is it possible that someone else could have set it like that?”

Her face turned thoughtful. “I suppose, although I have no idea who would have done it.”

“Alright. Well, make sure you call if anything happens, OK?” She nodded her head in response and I turned to leave with a short wave.

I got in my car and closed the door, then closed my eyes to think for a moment.  _ What does the time mean? Is that when the next murder will be taking place? _

I had no idea, so I headed back down to the office to think about it.

  
  


***

_ Present Day _

I closed my eyes, and all I saw was red. Just a day ago, this place had been picture perfect. Now, the store was ravaged by death. Maddison Brooks’s body was posed by several strings that attached to hooks in the ceiling. A ring of blue and purple around her neck suggested that she had been strangled by a rope.  _ Who kills an innocent kid? _

Dr. Evans approached me as if I was a snake, poised to strike at any moment. I didn’t turn to look at him. I just stared at the body. 

He said, “Judging from the bodies, I’d put time of death at aboutー”

“Let me guess. 1:30?” I swiveled my head to look at him. He nodded. I followed the line of her arm towards the book she was reaching for and picked it up. Turning to look back at Dr. Evans, I noticed the clock above his head, the one that had been frozen. It was still stuck, but now it read 11:50. 

The call had come an hour ago. I headed over right away, but my office is in the city, about an hour away from the town. 

“Now, I know you’re upsetー,” he began.

“Upset? An eight-year old girl just died on my watch and I’m no closer to catching her killer than I was a week ago.” I turned to fully face him. “I’m furious.” With that, I walked out the door. 

As I walked, I began to flip through the pages of the book, searching for any clues. Somewhere towards the middle, a piece of paper fell out. I knelt to pick it up, and flipped it over to find a short note written in familiar handwriting:

Consumed by an insatiable rage, the brave knight sought her revenge on the wicked sorcerer. She had failed to save the girl, but she swore to herself that he would not get away with it.

Will she be able to follow the clues and save the day? Or will this quest end in her death?

  * The Narrator



P.S. When you find me, detective, make sure you come alone.

For a long time I just stared at the paper. When I finally looked up, I could see nothing, think of nothing, but this man behind bars. He was right about one thing. I wouldn’t let him get away with it.

***

My car sat on the side of the road, no lights, no noise; nothing but my thoughts and the silence of the night around me. When I cross referenced the word “champion” with the name of the town, I found that there was a street called Champion Road. The only thing on it was an old, abandoned warehouse.  _ How cliche. _

I glanced at my watch. 11:47.  _ Close enough. _ I threw open my car door, then slammed it shut. I pulled my gun out of its holster on my hip and turned the safety off, holding it in front of me and cautiously proceeded towards the doors of the building. 

Remembering his warning from his first letter, I told no one where I was going.  _ It is not your job to pick up the pen. It is your job to follow my story to a T. _

I walked through the building, the only sound my heels clicking against the cement. Eventually, I came across a room. There was a desk and chair in the center. Lights sat in every corner. But what drew my attention was the walls. They were covered in pictures and letters and sticky notes, with strings connecting everything. Getting a little closer, I realized that they were plans. Every crime he had ever committed in his enter life was mapped out here, on these walls. I was so wrapped up in the plans that I let my guard down and lowered my gun.

That was a mistake.

I didn’t hear him approach until he wrenched the gun from my hand. I turned slowly, with my hands raised. I faced him, and my eyes widened.

“Hello Detective,” said Dr. Evans, a sinister smile stretching across his face. 

I couldn’t believe my eyes. In all of my searching, it had never occured to me that the killer would be someone that I knew. But now, thinking about it, it was genius. Hiding in plain sight. Making sure that I got all of the clues that I needed to keep the story on track. 

“You?” I said. I began to inch my way back towards the desk. 

“Yes, me,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I think the question you should be asking is: Why you?”

I raised my eyebrows at him. “I’m all ears. Enlighten me.”

He chuckled a little. “That’s why. You’re spunky. And much too confident for someone so new to their line of work. But, you were also smart and resourceful, and I knew that, with a little encouragement, you would get where you needed to be.”

I had reached the desk. “Well, you’re right about one thing.” I looked him straight in the eyes. “I am resourceful.” And with that, I threw a stack of papers at him and ducked, anticipating the gunshot that followed. I went low and barreled into his chest, taking him down. The gun flew across the floor. 

I scrambled to get up and crawled to the gun. My fingers were inches away when he yanked me back by my ankle. He straddled my waist and wrapped his hands around my throat, quickly cutting off circulation. My vision began to blur. I grabbed his wrist with one hand and reached out my other for the gun. Just as black dots started appearing in my line of sight, my hand grasped the handle of the gun. I brought it in between us, and all I saw was his smile fall and his eyes go wide before I shot him in the chest. Then all I saw was red.

***

Everything happened very quickly after that. After shoving him off of me, I called an ambulance and then called my boss to tell him what had happened. Police and paramedics arrived minutes later and drove him away. After telling several more authorities what had happened, my boss dismissed me to go home.

At my house, I took a long shower to wash off all of the blood. At some point I got a call that Dr. Evans had died en route to the hospital. Putting on pajamas and wrapping myself in a blanket, I did what I hadn’t been able to do much of in the past week.

I relaxed. And I slept.

***

My convertible flew down an empty stretch of road. I put the top down and revelled in the breeze rifling through my hair. I had done it. I was out. The past forty years had been fun, but the older I got, the more likely it was that I would get caught. So, I wrote the most elaborate story I had ever written, set in my hometown, and executed it to the letter.

You see, this was not the story of Detective Matthews; this was my story. My final story. And it went just as I had planned. The world believes Dr. Robert Evans to be dead, and I intend to keep it that way.

I am the Narrator, after all.


End file.
